Page 83

“And I assume that your mare conceived and now you have yourself a Thoroughbred.”

Becca nodded.

“Colt or filly?”

She met his gaze boldly. “Filly. Her name is Gypsy Wind.”

Brig’s jawline hardened. “You told me that much last night. But you neglected to tell me that she’s a full-blooded sister to Sentimental Lady.”

Becca hid her surprise. “I tried to tell you everything last night. You weren’t interested.”

In frustration, Brig raked his fingers through his hair. He shifted his eyes away from Becca for just a minute. “I can’t believe that you would be so stupid as to make the same mistake twice,the same damned mistake!”

“Gypsy Wind is no mistake.”

“Then why are you hiding her?”

“I’m not.”

“Come on, Rebecca. Don’t deny it. If you’d let out the word thatyouwere breeding another horse, a full sister to Sentimental Lady, the press would have been on you like fleas on a dog. That’s why you hid her, came to a private source for money.”

“I came to your father as a last resort.”

“Sure you did,” was Brig’s contemptuous response. “I bet the old man really ate it up, didn’t he? He never could pass up the opportunity to pull one over on the press.” The smile that tugged at the corners of Brig’s mouth didn’t touch his eyes. There was a sullen quality, a bitterness, that made his features seem more angular.

Becca’s chin lifted and a defiant glimmer rested in her round eyes. “How did you know that Gypsy Wind is Sentimental Lady’s sister?”

“Because I knew there was more to the story than what you admitted last night.” His raised palm stilled her protests. “And I admit that I didn’t want to discuss anything with you last night, including your horse or the money you owed my father.” Brig noticed that the defensive gleam in her eyes wavered. “But you did pique my interest, and after my shower I went into the old man’s den. That’s where I found this.” He extracted a neatly folded document from his back pocket.

“The note,” she guessed aloud, staring at the yellowed paper.

“That’s right.” He tossed the note onto the table and it slid across the polished oak surface to rest next to Becca’s mug. The figure of fifty thousand dollars was boldly scrawled on the face of the document; Becca’s signature attested its authenticity.

As Becca reached for the paper, Brig’s words arrested her. “Check out the back.” Becca turned the note over and saw Jason Chambers’ notation.Proceeds to be used for breeding of Night Dancer to Gypsy Lady.

“When did you plan to tell me about her, Becca?”

“I did—”

“Because my father died! What if he hadn’t?” Brig’s voice was deadly. “How long would you have waited? Until she began racing?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered honestly.

Brig reached for a chair, turned it around, and dropped into it. He straddled the seat and rested his arms against the back while his eyes impaled her. “Why don’t you tell me all about it,” he suggested, ignoring the now-cold breakfast. “We’ve got all weekend, and I can’t wait to hear why you took it upon yourself to flirt with tragedy all over again.”

Chapter 6

While Becca tried to collect her thoughts, the meal was started and finished in suffocating silence. All of her well-rehearsed speeches, all of her defenses for breeding Gypsy Wind fled under Brig’s stony gaze. The tension in the air was difficult to ignore, although Brig tried to appear patient, as if he understood her need for silence.

When they finished breakfast, Brig opened one of the French doors in the small alcove and quietly invited Becca to join him on the broad back porch that ran the length of the cabin. Becca carried her cup of coffee, cradling the warm ceramic in her palms as she stepped outside into the brisk mountain air. She couldn’t help but shiver. It was still early in the morning and a chill hung in the late autumn air. Becca took a long sip from her coffee, hoping it would warm her and give her the strength to face Brig with the truth concerning Gypsy Wind. There was little doubt in her mind that Brig would be angry with her and she half-expected him to push her out of his life again and this time keep the horse.

Brig followed Becca onto the porch. He leaned his elbows on the hand-hewn railing and his gray eyes scanned the secluded valley floor. A clear stream curled like a silver snake along a ridge near the edge of the woods. Already the aspens were beginning to lose their golden leaves to the soft wind. Brig’s gaze followed the course of the creek and a wistful smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. It was in that stream where he had caught his first native brook trout. He hadn’t done it alone. His old man had taught him how to cast and watch for the fish to strike. God, he missed that cuss of a father.

Abruptly Brig brought his wandering thoughts back to the present. He turned to face Rebecca and caught her watching the play of emotions on his face. He had hoped that in the morning light, without the blur of too many drinks, Rebecca Peters would lose her appeal to him, but he had been wrong. Dead wrong. Even the condemning proof of her treachery, the note to his father, couldn’t mar her beauty. He supposed that if anything, it had added to her intrigue. Becca had always been a woman of mystique. The six years he had been away from her had given a maturity to her expressive green eyes, which made her captivating. He knew that he shouldn’t be susceptible to her, that he should outwardly denounce her, but he couldn’t. Instead he tried a more subtle approach. “I guess I should apologize for last night.”

“Why?” she asked, observing him over the rim of her cup. Dread began to inch up her spine as she wondered which way the conversation was heading.

“It’s been a long week. A lot of problems. I didn’t expect to see you last night and I had no intention of getting so carried away.”